Page 5 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

The sheer volume nearly makes me jump out of my skin, forcing me to grip his arm tighter.

“Not so loud! You’ll wake Todd,” I hiss, glancing down at the sleeping chug bug nestled against my cloak. Once again jealous of my pet bug—that he can sleep through all the scariest parts.

Then it begins. The ship shudders violently, rattling like it’s caught in the grasp of an even bigger Dracoth. The deafening thrum of cannons reverberates through the hull, followed by the electric crack of discharging energy.

“Wow,” I breathe as brilliant azure bolts lance through the void, their light dancing like ripples across the clearest oceans of Earth. “So pretty.”

The beautiful blue bolts travel at incredible speed, slamming into the leading two alien ships.

Instantly, they explode in fiery bursts of blue and orange, like the fireworks show I promised Sandra.

Their wreckage spins out into the endless expanse of space before the cold vacuum snuffs out the flames.

An unbidden smile twists my lips and I wonder how many creepy aliens were onboard those ships, how many died in those blue orbs of death. They’re dead, and I’m bursting with life. My breath quickens at the incredibly exciting thought.

“Kill more of them, Dracoth. Kill them all,” I murmur, absently tracing the molten brand that coils around my chest and neck.

Dracoth doesn’t acknowledge my words, his focus razor-sharp. “Break through their line,” he orders Keth, his tone cold and commanding. “Continue toward the moon. Quickly.”

The remaining ten enemy ships peel away from the wreckage, forming a menacing swarm around our hulking vessel.

My breath catches as their weapon muzzles flash—bursts of searing orange and spiraling emerald beams streak toward us like vengeful comets.

Rockets whirl through the void, and I wince, bracing for the impending chaos.

Dracoth steadies me by wrapping his immense arm around my shoulder, not showing any concern, bolstering my own courage.

I cling to him, still expecting to be blown to bloody smithereens.

But just before their attacks reach our ship, a glowing blue shield flares to life.

It envelopes our vessel like a warm blanket on a wintery holiday retreat, absorbing the alien’s incoming attacks instantly.

“Hah!” I gasp in relief, clapping my hands. “Can’t hurt us, you losers!”

“Shields at ninety-nine percent, War Chieftain,” Keth announces, his voice flat as a pancake. I don’t care, though; his meaning is syrupy sweet.

The ship groans under the strain, vibrations rippling through the black metal walls like the grumbling of an ancient beast. Outside the viewport, flashes of red, green, and brilliant blue streak through the void as the enemy ships dart like angry hornets.

The blinding white moon looms ever closer, a pale and perfect lightbulb in the madness of this chaotic dance.

“The junkers gift you with a blunder, young Dracoth,” Ignixis sneers, his voice sharp with disbelief. “Yet you move into range of their battle moon willingly?”

More explosions bloom outside, dazzling bursts of azure flames consuming enemy ships. Their wreckage spins aimlessly into the cold abyss, but our ship shudders, the shield shimmering as volley after volley pounds against it.

“No, they scramble to protect their greatest weakness,” Dracoth retorts, his tone as hard as the volcanic mountain he calls home.

He knows what he’s doing.... right? I glance up at him, my heart hammering. His deep-set crimson eyes are locked on the viewport with unbreakable focus.

He’s so got this!

“Shields at ninety-five percent, War Chieftain. Battle moon now in firing range. Pulsar cannons locking on,” Keth drones.

My stomach twists. Each word feels heavier than the last.

“I see,” Jazreal murmurs, stroking his chiseled chin. “You mean to take out their cannons before they can fire?”

“No,” Dracoth replies, his voice cutting through the rising tension. “Strafing maneuver. Focus all plasma cannons on their docking hatches.” His crimson eyes gleam with intensity, glowing like the flashing destruction from outside.

“Sheer folly,” Ignixis hisses, gliding to the viewport in a dramatic swirl of black robes. He raises a withered, runic hand to shield his eyes as he peers into the dazzling void. “Interesting...” he mutters, though I do not know why.

To me, it all looks like a demented version of Christmas lights—except this isn’t Christmas, this is a nightmare. Nightmas.

Suddenly, the ship lurches, groaning like a wounded beast. Thick green beams slice through the void like blinding headlights, crashing into our blue shields.

The resulting teal explosion engulfs the viewport, sending tremors rippling through the walls.

I cling to Dracoth, my heart pounding like the worst hangover-induced headache, the terrible thought gnawing at me: Has my murder husband made a huge mistake?

We’re so close to the glowing white moon now that its surface fills the viewport. Craters pockmark its face, and the gleaming white metal cannons jutting from its surface all seem to leer in our direction ominously.

The ship shudders again, ear-piercing zaps reverberating through the room as our blue orbs retaliate, striking back at the eerie moon.

My gaze locks on the glowing projectiles as they race toward their target, finally slamming into a metallic tunnel.

The entrance, streaming with enemy vessels, erupts in a blaze of molten blue fire.

“Direct hit!” Jazreal shouts, triumph lighting up the unscarred side of his face.

He’s right—the tunnel is now a ruin of shattered rock and twisted metal. But there’s no time to savor the victory. Another round of flashing green beams smashes into our ship, the explosion shaking the room and rattling my senses, like I’m in a spin cycle on max setting.

“Shields at seventy percent, War Chieftain,” Keth announces, the number dropping far too fast for my liking.

“Maintain the strafing run. Destroy those hatches,” Dracoth commands, his tone somehow still level.

Curious, I spy two more tunnels, the stream of ships buzzing out of their entrances like wasps from a broken nest. A couple dozen swarm around our vessel, unloading their murderous payload against our azure shield.

Now a constant, rhythmic attack, each assault sends tremors throughout the entire ship.

But they’re just a nuisance—like a mere traffic ticket compared to the foreclosure that is the moon’s terrifying green beams.

I can almost feel those emerald cannons charging, their menace crawling across my skin.

My grip on Dracoth tightens as a chill rushes up my spine.

The hum of energy builds, and right on cue, the moon’s cannons fire.

Blinding green blasts smash into our shields, erupting into dazzling teal flares that fill the viewport with light.

I shield my eyes, the impact reverberating through the ship like a not-so-fun amusement ride.

“Shields at fifty-five percent, War Chieftain,” Keth states, his detachment, making me jealous of his robotic calm.

“Are we winning, Dracoth?” I ask, my voice trembling, the words spilling out more as a plea than a question.

My Mr. Frowny Face finally turns, his crimson eyes locking onto mine. His expression, carved in stone as always, gives nothing away.

“Crush your useless fears,” he says, placing his massive hand over the sacred brand scorched into my chest and neck.

“You are the War Chieftainess, my War Chieftainess,” he declares, his eyes blazing like molten coals, igniting a fire within me. It spreads from his hand into my chest, sweeping through my entire body like a wildfire, consuming fear, kindling fury.

Everything snaps into crystal-clear focus.

Every contour of my Dracoth’s face becomes vivid, every hue in his misty red-silver eyes shimmering like molten metal.

Through our bond, I sense our flames roaring together—a beautiful dance that should never end.

A smile spreads across my face as I nod, a surge of confidence swelling in my chest.

The battle outside rages on, but what once felt incomprehensible and overwhelming now seems almost..

. slow. Our ship shudders, firing sizzling blue bolts that streak through the void like falling stars.

Each impact sends ripples of destruction across the moon’s surface.

My grin widens as another metal tunnel crumbles, molten rock and slag collapsing into a smoldering heap, crushing two enemy ships trying to escape.

Then my attention snaps to the annoying moon’s cannons, sensing them charging up for another attack. The sight of them makes my jaw tighten with hatred.

How fucking infuriating they are!

My eyes trace the trajectory of their beams. I know their beams will converge on the forward left side of our ship.

My fingers twitch, and without thinking, I raise my hands.

Sacred barriers flicker into existence—my will made manifest—glimmering like crystalline glass, refracting the bursts of vibrant explosions in the void.

The cannons fire.

Blinding green beams lance toward us, converging with relentless force. I grit my teeth, bracing for the impact. It hits my shields like a blow to the gut, almost ripping the air from my lungs and forcing me to my knees.

Dracoth’s hand clamps down on my shoulder, grounding me. His eyes stay fixed on the chaos outside, unwavering, his presence an anchor amidst the storm.

Time slows, each moment stretching like falling snowflakes. My barrier trembles, glowing a fierce, searing green under the barrage. The weight presses down on my mind—intense, unyielding, like Dracoth’s merciless strength in the missionary position.

The fury burns hot in my veins, hating the stupid moon and its stupid green beams. A scream tears from my throat as I project more rage, fortifying my barrier with sheer stubborn will, unique to me alone.

And then—silence.